


STRUCK

by dvaaah



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 02:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16053620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvaaah/pseuds/dvaaah
Summary: In which Akande unintentionally strikes the medic who had always shown him kindness with a fatal surge from his gauntlet, and works against the clock to undo the damage he has caused.





	STRUCK

 

_LISTEN TO:_

**_[a winters wish — harrys cupboard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQVc5-u_J0s)_ ** [ **** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IQVc5-u_J0s)

 

* * *

 

An admonitory shadow crept over the villain as he stood, attentive, in the wake of the Sunday afternoon. His capture had been an inconvenience, but his escape had been inevitable. History always did have a way of repeating itself. Overwatch had fallen — their heroic complexes had just deterred them from the fact, though Akande was not a man who would be brought down with ease. He would always rise back up.

Having escaped the holding cell, he was now awaiting an attack from his rivals. The system had been breached, and in the midst of his breakout, the doors closed and locked from around his colossus frame. He was surrounded, but the dismay he should have felt never brushed his features — instead they were hardened by a taunt jaw and a narrowed gaze.

The sound was like fuel to a fire: it signalled instantly, and Akande, having prepared his gauntlet for the intrusion, aimed and struck the head of the figure who had entered. He had expected him to be another guard who vowed to shoot him down, though it was a distinctive cry that made the felon think that he may have been wrong.

His heart had dropped in his chest as the body caused a thud against the ground, the darkened contour of the room sheltering his vision from who had lay before him. It was the weapon that answered him, having fallen from the medic's loosened grip and rolled into the fractured view of Akande.

A sonic amplifier.

"No..." The clenched fist he'd held beneath the golden machinery weakened, instead working with his bare arm to pull the freedom fighter into the light, and onto his lap. Lúcio Correia Dos Santos had always been kind to him, despite the apparent differences they had. Whilst overwatch would treat him like a criminal, Lúcio had shown him humanity. He would sneak into his cell at night to offer him a proper meal. They had usually been cooked by his own hand, the expertise of Brazilian cuisine appearing on the plate more than half of the time. He would play him music, and heal his injuries. He would tell him, despite his protests, that he believed Akande would one day do good in the world. He would inspire him like no other. and now he had fallen, and it was his fault.

The crack of Lúcio's eyes was what gave Akande a sense of hope. He wasn't broken, just damaged, and he could still be fixed. The villain's voice rang in an unlikely tone — soft, like flakes of snow in Winter's rise,  _"stay with me,_ _ƙ_ _auna,"_  and Lúcio heard him, and he smiled against the pain in his temple. Akande reached for the amplifier, re-positioning the notches until a golden aura bordered their embrace, a soft melody teeming among the area. it was light, but it might have been enough to signal his whereabouts to the guards who were searching for him. Akande didn't care.

A hopeful smile lifted his lips, and a few stray tears in his eyes had contradicted his confidence that this was going to work, because somewhere deep down, past the bridge of denial, he knew that a strike to the head could not be cured like this. Lúcio's eyes struggled to stay open and a sting showed in the tremble of his lip. If only his technology could work miracles. It was weak, it was slow. It couldn't work fast nor strong enough for the damage to the musician's brain to falter, and Akande's throat began to tie an unyielding knot at the realisation.

The spark in Lúcio's eyes was dimming.

"No, Lúcio, please. I am pleading with you — just stay awake a little while longer. It will work. We just need more time. Do not give up, please. Stay with me. Stay here." In all of Akande's years owning the title of  _Doomfist_ , he had never shown such tainted desperation in his words. It reminded Lúcio that he was right all along. Akande was not a villain. Not in the slightest. It was enough to preserve his smile a little longer, and with a voice barely there, he said, "you won't forget me, will you?"

The glow that surrounded them, formerly mimicking an autumn sunlight, now seemed to fall colourless to the successor's blurred, impaired sight, and for the first time, he realised that not all who fell would be forgotten. He swallowed against an impossible lump. "Never."

Lúcio's eyes were drawn like curtains, but this time, they hadn't re-opened. Much like the breath in his lungs, His smile was fading. Akande couldn't do anything except say he was so sorry, and hold the Brazilian closer to his chest so that his last moments were warm. His left hand, having been clutched the entire time, wilted before a silver key toppled and chimed against the ground. Lúcio had come to help him escape.

The door was kicked open and a flood of guards poured in through the entrance, guns raised to who they assumed was a villain and his hostage, rather than a man and his only friend.

And for once in his life, he didn't want to fight.

**_FIN._ **

* * *

 


End file.
